Dear Brittany
by relaxovision
Summary: A/U; This is a companion piece to lizzylizbian's Unconventional Assistance. Santana has her own way of processing her office encounters with Brittany: Hopelessly romantic love letters.
1. Part 1

**Unconventional Assistance** by **lizzylizbian** has been haunting me since she uploaded the first chapter. Just like everyone else I've been wondering about what the hell Santana must be thinking through all of this. As it turned out, in my head she's a fan of Catull and his sappy love letters to Lesbia.

That being said, you really need to read that story to understand what's going on here. Please find lizzylizbian in the list of my favorite authors in my profile.

Just one more little note: I originally posted this without lizzy's permission, but she's read it and approves (omgomgomgomgomgomgomg). Also, it's just MY version of what Santana might be thinking. I really know as much as you do about what's going on in UA.

The chapter numbers are refering to the chapters of Unconventional Assistance.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1:<strong>

Dear Brittany,

Today when I came back from my lunch break I found you at your desk, asleep. Your left hand was clutching a cup of coffee and your right hand was lying loosely on the keyboard of your computer.

You obviously had passed out in the middle of something.

At first I considered waking you. The office, Brittany, is no place to take a nap.

But we've been working together for almost a year and by now I know better than misjudging you by thinking of you as lazy. You've proven to be quite the opposite, actually, and I couldn't wish for a better assistant.

I know you've been working late hours almost on a daily basis since you got here. I promise I will make it up to you. I don't want you to think your hard work goes unnoticed. I truly appreciate everything you do.

The last couple of weeks have been exhausting for both of us and when I saw you at your desk with your face completely relaxed over a stack of folders I couldn't help but envy you a little.

The stress doesn't even let me rest properly at night and I'm always tired these days. I wish I'd have just a couple of minutes in which I could kick back and blank out the way you did there.

I couldn't bring myself to blame you.

Besides, you looked so peaceful, so content, how could I ever disturb you?

I will never really tell you this, but at that moment you reminded me of my first girlfriend back in high school.

She was blonde, like you, Brittany, and she was stunning, just like you.

She was a dancer and the physical effort from long hours of practice would often take its toll on her. There were many days where we would go home and she would just make me sit on the bed so she could curl into me. She loved to bury her head in my lap so I could rinse my fingers through her golden locks and listen to her breath.

Sometimes she'd tell me stories she made up as she went. Stories about ducks were always her favorites. She'd just lie there, enjoy my touches and talk herself to sleep.

I loved her so much.

We broke up during our college years. We were young, we needed space. We needed to party and figure ourselves out.

Sometimes she calls me or I call her, like, once a year or so, and we talk and keep each other up to date. After all these years we still mean something to each other.

She's married now and has a beautiful daughter.

They say you never fully get over your first and maybe that is true. I will always love her, probably not in the way she'd need for us to be a couple, though. Not the way I'd need it for us to work out. But my thoughts are often with her. I truly wish for her to be happy.

Today at the office, Brittany, when I saw you lying there over your desk, snoozing, just for a second, I imagined what it would feel like running my fingers through your blonde satin. I imagined the strands of your hair in my palm as I'd gently stroke your head.

And I wondered what you were dreaming about.

I hope you had sweet dreams.

Next time I will have to wake you.

Next time I can't let you sleep.

Next time I can't let my thoughts wander.

I can't let myself fall for you.

My assistant.

- S.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2:<strong>

Dear Brittany,

It's getting harder and harder not to let myself feel. I'm an actress so fortunately you will never be able to tell from my face, but when I enter the office and find you already sitting at your desk, busy, and you greet me with your perfect smile, I can feel myself break apart.

I haven't had a relationship in quite some time. You out of all people will understand that my job doesn't leave much space for anyone in my life.

Sometimes I wish there was someone waiting for me when I get home, someone who knows exactly what it's like being me, being under the constant unforgiving eye of the press, someone who would just switch off the lights for me and take my head into her hands and kiss the heavy thoughts away.

But I almost forgot what that even feels like. I've always had a lot of suitors, but no one made me feel anything. No one made me want to trust them. Maybe I'm just not meant to be part of a couple.

It is so absurd that I even think about you. What do I know about you anyway? You're always acting so professionally around me. You are probably the only person I know who's never made a move on me.

And you're doing such a wonderful job as my assistant. I've never worked with anyone who managed to always be as discreet and appropriate as you are. I don't want to take advantage of that… of you. I don't want to harm our relationship.

Every time you come to my desk, though, my heart sinks and I turn my head and focus on the paper work in front of me. Because, Brittany, I'm an actress and I could refrain from flushing crimson, I could pretend to not even like you, I could make you believe that you mean nothing to me.

But acting is for the camera. Acting is not lying.

There are no cameras here and I'm used to lie to a lot of people. It's a tactic. That's the reason why I'm being called a heartless bitch. How would they be able to see that I do have a heart?

I don't want to have to lie. Not to you.

So I avoid looking at you instead and something tells me that even the slightest glance at you gives away how deeply in awe I am every time you cross my vision. My eyes betray me where the rest of my face remains unreadable. I can feel it.

I hope you don't know.

I hope you know.

Oh, I don't know.

I hope you want what I can never ask for.

Because I am your boss.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

Did that really happen?

I've been fantasizing about something like this so often that I am now unable to tell if my brain has played a trick on me or if you were really there today.

I cannot count the times that my fingers felt like yours and your scent filled my head. How often has my skin betrayed me and made me believe you were lying on top of me, naked like me, pressed against me?

Oh, the disappointment I had to go through so many nights when my eyes opened and your name was still on my lips, but you weren't there and my hands would come up empty, missing your blonde locks and your strong shoulders.

I know it's wrong to think of you this way, Brittany, and I'm so sorry. I've tried not to let my thoughts wander there. I'm constantly trying to distract myself. Work has always helped before.

But, Brittany, when I'm close and my brain doesn't do what I tell it anymore and even my hands and my limbs and my chest fail to obey, it's your vision that sends me over the edge. I swear I don't do that on purpose. You just appear behind my eyelids and there's nothing I can do about that. I feel so guilty.

I'm lost in you and I'm desperate to find a solution for this dilemma.

And today it was like these dreams of mine had snuck into my office, although my work place has always been safe.

If I didn't know it better I could swear that today before my meeting I found you between my thighs.

It was only the briefest of moments and the second I looked at you my orgasm took over, leaving me no time to decide whether this was a dream or reality. My body knows my succubus so well by now, the picture of you is like an instant trigger.

I could feel you, all of you.

I didn't dare to touch you, being afraid my hands would once again come up empty and I'd wake from my dream that's you. Through your tongue, though, I could feel how real you are. I could feel how much you wanted me, just as much as I want you, Brittany. And just for a second, just for the second when your mouth covered my sex and the flat of your tongue made me see stars, I was certain that you and I could be lovers.

But then you got up and acted as if nothing happened and all of a sudden I wasn't so sure anymore.

You wiped your lip and walked out without a word and you returned to be a succubus, disappearing after getting what she wants.

Maybe I have made it up afterall. Maybe I'm really that desperate.

I'm lost in so many ways. Please just give me a sign.

- S.


	2. Part 2

**A/N:** First of all, much love to **lizzylizbian** and her awesome fanfiction. She's the only reason this story exists.

And second of all: Since I said Catull's carmina gave me the inspiration to write this in the form of letters, I think it only makes sense to give you a short summary of what Catull's letters are about.

_Catull has this girlfriend, Lesbia, who he loves very much and he wants to kiss her all day and night. She has a pet bird and it's super cute until it dies._

_And then one day she just breaks up, cause she's such a skank and Catull doesn't love her anyway, because she's sleeping with everyone. That bitch._

_Also, her new boyfriend is an idiot, because he doesn't realize that the only reason why Lesbia keeps talking shit about Catull is that she's still in love with him._

_But Catull doesn't give a shit. He despises the little whore and the only reason why he compares every other woman he meets to Lesbia is, because she's such a skank and he hates her. Also, he has friends so fuck that. And yea, her boyfriend is an idiot. And Catull is still in love with Lesbia. Who would have thought?_

_And then, out of nowhere, Lesbia comes back to Catull._

_WIN._

_Lesbia is the most beautiful thing in the world and Catull is head over heels._

_The ending is kinda left open._

Times have changed. People haven't. Can you believe that happened centuries ago?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3:<strong>

Dear Brittany,

Next to my bed there is a little mahogany cabinet. I know, I know, you should never buy furniture made of rainforest wood and that's why I didn't. It's one of these things I keep for pure sappy nostalgic reasons as it was a gift from my grandmother for when I moved into my first apartment.

She insisted on giving me something that belongs to her instead of buying me something new. That way, she said, a part of her would always be with me.

I rolled my eyes (inwardly) and smiled (outwardly) and thanked her politely. Back then I found the old thing hideous and to be honest, I've never been one to collect old things before. That's a habit for old British ladies and gay men.

Now that she's passed away, though, I've come to love this ugly old piece of wood and I use it as a place to live out the sentimentality that has somehow snuck into my life.

When you open the top drawer, for example, you will find a couple of old pictures from my childhood:

Me and my brother on a swing. My mom sitting on a bench in our garden, reading a book. Our house. Freddy, our golden retriever, one ear standing up, the other one hanging down, head curiously cocked to the side. Our neighbors on their weekly visit for a round of Doppelkopf, beer in hand.

In the second drawer there's a couple of maps and cards I received from my brother. He travels around so much I never get to see him anymore, but no matter where life sends him, he will always make sure to let me know I'm in his thoughts.

The cards usually just say "I love you" or "I'm with you". Sometimes he uses them to tell me he's following my career. "Congratulations on your latest cover", "I read Natalie Portman signed to EA. Wow", "I'm proud of you".

The maps are far more interesting, though. He will always mark the exact route he's traveled and each place he's stayed, every inn, every hotel, every park he sat down to rest, every spot in the road he stayed longer than an hour, because he couldn't get a ride, is tagged with an X.

It's a treasure hunt and the price to win is him.

Those maps are probably the most valuable things I possess.

In the lowest drawer, though, I keep a little box. In that box, Brittany, you can find exactly 30 charms. One for each year that I've lived. And each charm represents one special event, one person who was important to me that year, one day of my life I wanted to keep forever.

My brother, naturally, is represented by a little silver and black suitcase, complete with a tiny key and stickers from different cities. They say "Toronto", "Tokyo" and "Paris", which is funny, because these are probably the only cities my brother never actually visited.

There's a little nacre tooth that my parents bought me as an exchange for the baby tooth I lost when I was six. They never got tired of telling me the story of my emotional outburst. Apparently I kept crying and shrieking for hours, because I thought my body was falling apart.

A little duck for, well, you know… her.

A silver owl for the day I graduated from college.

A small camera for the premiere of "Long Way Home".

I haven't decided, yet, what my 31st charm will be. So much has happened during last year. Everything that went down in EA, all these big steps in my career, everything I achieved, all these dreams of mine that have come true, everything I worked so hard for… this all deserves a place in my box.

But why then can I only think about what kind of charm you would make?

It's such a childish thing to swoon over someone I barely know and I'm too old, Brittany. I'm too old to dedicate a whole year of my life to a stupid one-sided crush. I'm too old to have a crush!

I wish someone would just come and shake me awake.

I used to be someone. At least at work I used to be someone. A cut- throat cunt. A heartless bitch. I never wanted to have those titles, Brittany, but at the end of the day I always knew that fame and success always come at a high cost.

And to be honest, these names they throw at me, they keep me safe. Better be feared and left alone than being loved and ripped apart, especially when you're a woman.

They all know not to fuck with me. Everyone knows better than to disrespect me. No one would dare to talk back at me. I can cut them into pieces. I am capable of ruining careers - lives - with just one sentence.

And now?

Look at me:

All I wanted was an afternoon to process and I'm not even able to get my head around what happened earlier today or if it happened at all. Am I going crazy?

I must be.

I'm a love struck fool sitting in the middle of a pile old of stuff that should have been thrown away decades ago, writing a cheesy letter to someone who's never even so much as smiled at me in a way that would indicate more than politeness or maybe friendliness.

It's so easy, of course, to think of us as secret lovers as long as we don't even talk.

It's so simple to pretend like we were meant to be when I never confront myself with reality. These letters are just thoughts. They're fiction. There's nothing that connects us in real life.

As long as my words don't reach you I can keep it easy, at least for you, Brittany, I can keep it easy.

You will never hear me speak about…well…this. You will never have to make up your mind. You will never have to be the fool swimming in nostalgia feeling like a complete wuss.

You deserve better than that.

You deserve to be someone.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

Every time I think I've found a solution for this emotional debacle you come in my way. Whenever I think I'm ready to shrug off these thoughts of you that keep haunting me you shoot me one of your sweet smiles and I'm caught again.

It's almost as if there's a blur of blonde creeping through my brain convolutions, tightening around the little veins there, making me have hallucinations.

And hallucinations they must be, because, Brittany, how can something that feels so right be of no meaning to you? How can you act as if nothing happened?

I know you're an actress, but, no offense - honestly - if you were good enough to hide your feelings from me you'd be a superstar. I recognize acting when I see it. It's my job!

So, logically, I'm making everything up. Whatever I thought had happened was only another dream.

You don't feel a thing and I need to get over myself.

I want to let go.

I have to let go.

I cannot let go.

Don't let me go.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

How do you say "stop" without actually using that word? How do you tell someone off without having to say it?

I'm sure I've tried my best.

My succubus struck again, Brittany, and this time I'm certain you were there. When you grabbed my wrists and forced my chair in your direction, when you knelt down and made me come there was not a doubt in my mind it was really happening.

I wish I could get a glimpse of what's inside your head so I could understand why you did what you did.

Why did you force yourself on to me? Why did you pin my arms to the chair and why did you push the way you did?

If you were trying to comfort me, Brittany, you could have hugged me, you could have kissed me. But that's not how a succubus works, right? That's not how you work. That's not what you feel.

You needed to catch me off-guard and you needed to take me. You had to take something from me.

Just what do I have that you apparently want?

And why couldn't I say "stop"?

I was always the strong one. I had to be strong for my mom when dad left us. I had to be strong for her when my brother decided to leave. I had to be strong for my brother who couldn't handle the divorce. I'm used to being responsible for a lot of people and by now it comes naturally to me.

I haven't known anything else for a long time and it feels okay. I can do that. I can handle tough situations. I can be strong.

When you grabbed my wrists, though, my skin started to burn and when your nose traced the line where I had imagined your fingers to be so often I was positive - just like back then when I was six - that my body would fall apart.

It was just so easy to be weak for these few bittersweet minutes with you between my legs. With you I found it easy to let myself float on this ocean of thought, on these waves of pure pleasure. It was easy to let you take over, to let you be in charge.

It felt strangely innocent. As if it wasn't wrong at all.

"It's okay"?

If it's okay then why do you have to remain this untouchable fantasy? Why do you insist on treating us as if we didn't exist?

Why do you have to be a dream?

Is it really okay?

For you? Or for me?

I wonder what wave will catch me next. I wonder how much time will pass and on what shore I will end up.

And I wonder if you will be with me when the time comes.

- S.


	3. Part 3

****A/N:** **Thanks for all the sweet comments! And a huge thank you to **lizzylizbian** who's not only the author of **Unconventional Assistance**, the awesome fic this little piece is inspired by, but who has from letter one on been nothing but sweet and encouraging and supportive.

I know I don't name my chapters, but if I was to give this chapter a name it would be "torn"... for several reasons.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4:<strong>

Dear Brittany,

This will be my last letter to you.

Whatever is going on between us, or what's not going on, it doesn't matter. It's not real. There is no tidal wave coming, washing my doubts away and carrying me to some lost island with you.

This has to stop.

Yesterday felt so good, too good to be true. I know people use this phrase to express their hope. They are led by faith and have a basis to build it on. For us, though, that's not the case. We will never be together.

I have a reputation to lose, Brittany. I can't give up everything I've worked for, everything I've built, for a silly affair with my assistant.

I can't lose my head over someone who isn't even able to express what she wants.

What were you thinking? I am your boss. You can't approach me like that.

And I can't approach you.

Do you know what would happen if I'd made any advances on you? Hellfire would break lose, Brittany. And I'm not just talking about the media.

Do you know what happens to people who sleep with their assistants?

I'm not going to be Steve Phillips.

I'm no Bill fucking Clinton!

"It's okay?"

No, it's not. It's not o-fucking-kay to assault me and make me believe. And it's not okay to just leave me behind, to pretend nothing happened. Something happened, Brittany. Something did happen.

Why can't you at least tell me what that was? What it could be?

You have nothing to lose, so what is it that you want?

And what was I thinking?

Dreams are dreams for a reason, Brittany. They have to remain in one's head. They only feel right, because we can shape them to be anything we want.

Our thoughts, they are like modeling clay. If you add a little pressure here and carve a little piece out there you can form whatever, you can make your brain believe anything.

Even that your office is a safe spot.

Even that you're not alone.

You can create a surrounding that never lets you sleep, never quiets down, never lets your mind wander too far into the emptiness that is your life.

The office, that's where I can shine. There is no one wanting anything from me other than my professional advise, my orders. I can lose myself in work, in annoying phone calls and exhausting debates over contract details.

It offers me a shell made of paperwork and reputation.

It's different at home.

No one cares who I am when there's only me around. No one protects me from myself. And of course, you won't ever be protecting me, either.

When I don't have my home, I cannot lose the office, too.

I cannot let my dreams interfere with reality.

And I'm definitely not going to be on one list with James E. McGreevey and Jim West.

So, I'm sorry.

Goodbye.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

Not even a day has passed and, ugh, who am I kidding?

How could I hope that for once you wouldn't smile at me the way you do? How could I make myself believe I'd be able to resist your charm? Isn't it wicked how different everything seems at night? How the cool air of the next morning makes you fat-headed, makes you swim in false confidence? As if the rising sun would lift your ego, dragging it up into the sky with it.

And then the light blinds your eyes so you don't see the upcoming storm.

Just the slightest grazing of our fingers, Brittany, when you handed me my coffee and I'm right back in the depth of the second circle.

Sometimes I wonder: Would I be released if I managed to commit a sin even greater? I tried being angry and eventually couldn't.

Whilst a part of me knows I rightfully deserve the punishment for breaking all my vows, I would prefer any other hell over mine. Minos, you must have been mistaken! Come back and sentence me anew!

I should have said 'no' the first time. Or yesterday. Or any other day between. Instead I let the storm pull me into your direction, helplessly floating away from everything I've built my life upon.

I've given up my power when I sat down to write this first letter to you. With the first syllable I sealed my fate.

"Dear". That's exactly what you are to me. There is no going back from there. I cannot un-write it. I cannot un-feel us. These letters are proof of my weakness.

I let you be in charge. Not because that's what you ask of me, but because I have no choice.

But, Brittany, with my emotions and my body like cards on the table and with you holding on to your own hand so tightly, you are the only one who knows what's going to happen next.

Can't you just let me know?

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

Help me?

Has a succubus ever offered anything before? Was there ever a time when Lilith considered giving? For all I know she abandoned Adam, who couldn't live with her demands, who couldn't live with her wanting anything. She didn't give, she took and that cost her paradise.

Or were you merely trying to make up for what you took? Brittany, please know that you don't owe me anything. I will never take more than you can give. I will never demand anything from you. I have never demanded anything from you, have I? You told me you know.

Oh sweet sweet innocent Brittany.

Are you my succubus or am I yours now? Am I haunting your dreams the way you've been haunting mine? The tremble in your voice when you pleaded with me, it suggested so much. Can I dare to hope?

We could be so much more than that. If it wasn't for my job, if there wasn't this huge risk I'm taking by even looking at you the way I do, we could be more.

Help me?

Or is this just my desire taking over once more, blurring the cruel truth until it seems soft and loving.

Help me.

Is that what you were trying to do? So after all this back and forth I've been struggling with, it has always been this easy for you. A business arrangement. You were only trying to be my assistant.

Loyal, discreet, enthusiastic and hard-working. Attributes that fit you so perfectly I wouldn't have to think twice about using them in a letter of recommendation for you.

I never expected you to take it this far.

"We can't". It slipped so easily from my tongue, so quickly with no time to think about it. I couldn't stop it. Maybe somewhere in the back of my head there is a "we" buried somewhere. I'm afraid, it's true, though: "we" really can't.

You can and I can, but there is no "we" for you, is there? And there is no "us" in my career.

So despite my believes, despite what I feel, I will do as you wish. I will lie to keep the us in us alive. I will act and hide within my shell, the shell you obviously like so much. The shell that you are working for.

If that's all I can have, if that is all you are willing to give me, I'll take it. I'll surrender, lay my life into your hands and I will trust that you know the responsibility that comes with that.

But even if I'm wrong, even if you are just my succubus and you're the one who's taking from me, I'll give up myself entirely. If it's my body and not me you want, you can have it. I will accept my fate and I'll gladly give myself to you. Again and again and again.

Sweet Brittany, oh sweet sin.

For I am long yours.

- S.


	4. Part 4

**A/N:** It started as a companion piece to **lizzylizbian's** **Unconventional Assistance**. But this collection of letters has long become a love declaration to lizzy's story and I'm grateful that I get to spend so much time with her Santana.

Fun fact: When I started editing this afternoon I noticed I had signed one of the letters with my real name. Oh Brittana, what are you doing to me? :D

The Latin phrases are taken from **Catull's Carmen** **5** (Go read it. It's beautiful.) The translation of the phrase I don't directly put into English you can find at the bottom of this entry.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5:<strong>

Dear Brittany,

Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus.

We live, my Lesbia, and we love.

I know Catull's carmina have been set to music and if I could sing myself to you, I would. If you were just willing to listen, I would transform each letter of every word I've written into a note so they would form a melody, a tune I'd let both our hearts dance to in complete unison.

Da mi basia!

Da mi basia mille deinde centum.*

But, of course, we're not in love and I'm not a musician.

Was Catull as torn as I am? Did he get to be as lucky? Did he bathe in hallucinations, in sweet fantasies and beautiful nightmares?

At least he got to be with his Lesbia, even if it was only for a while. At least he was loved. And he never had to doubt.

Each time I call for you I am afraid that you won't come. Each second that passes until my office door swings open and you enter is the scariest moment of my life. It's wavering and pondering and wondering and thinking and over-thinking and questioning and reasoning back and forth and forth and back and just when I'm about to tell you it's ok, you stand there.

Sometimes you smile and I can see pure daylight reflected in your eyes, because your smile, even if it's tiny and shy, it lights up not only the room but the entire world.

Sometimes you don't look at me at all and you move so fast I almost don't see you coming and you duck and hide under my skirt and before I know what's happening you've made a heaven of my hell.

Sometimes you cross the room and you hesitate. You study my face as if you were searching for something. Just what are you searching for?

Maybe you are making sure you are safe, that I will never ask any more of you than your tongue on my sex. That it's just an unconventional assistance. Then I crumble inside, because I promised to keep the us in us alive, Brittany, so I lean back and close my eyes and hide within my shell and make sure you have reason to come back next time.

Sometimes I go back to questioning my mind. Have I gone mad and you weren't there? But whenever I'm about to convince myself of that, you stand there. You stand there and my worries vanish.

Every meeting imposes a threat and a skipped heart beat and a hurricane within my chest for I am never certain if this will be the last time I get to be with you.

These meetings with clients and contract partners used to always stress me out, but now I don't even think about them anymore. My thoughts are always with you instead. My schedule that always only meant work is now a timeline of my emotional rollercoaster. Even looking at it makes me hold my breath.

Wednesday 5pm: Brittany

Friday 9:45am: Brittany

Monday noon: Brittany

Tuesday 2:30pm: Brittany

A white skirt, a grey skirt, a black skirt, white slacks, purple pumps, a blouse, a blazer, a suit, a scarf, a headband, a bun, blue, beige, black, white, a different day, a different outfit, the same face, the same glance, the same Brittany.

Sometimes I panic. What if she doesn't get the hint this time? What if she gets it, but doesn't want me anymore? What if she has met someone over the weekend? What if I will never get to see her again, standing there in my office, piercing me with her blue eyes shortly before locking the door and closing the distance?

What if you don't come?

But then you do and then I do and for a few minutes my life is perfect.

Just come again and make me come again once more. Once more and maybe I can be happy. Maybe this one next time will be enough.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

How can you be so close and yet so far away?

It wouldn't take much to reach out and touch you, to stroke your hair, to fist your locks, to cry out your name in burning desire, to take your hands and pull you up to kiss those sugary lips of yours.

You're always just the length of an arm away.

Maybe I could let my fingers slip from the armrests of my chair, let them slightly graze your cheek and make it look like an accident.

Maybe if I was careful enough I could touch you and you wouldn't even notice.

Or I could just slide down from my chair, grab the back of your head, wrap my legs around you and press you against me and push my hand under your skirt and at least once, at least this one time, take you the way you are taking me before any meeting. I could give you back everything you've given me.

I could push you against my desk and make you come time and time again.

But of course, I will never do that. I cannot break the spell and risk losing the little that I have. I cannot let you know about me. I cannot scare you off.

You are always miles away.

Is it a matter of want?

My ex - not the one who I've told you about - once told me my biggest problem is that I'm unable to express what I want, what I wish for. She said there's always so much going on in my brain, but when I'm confronted with a real question, when I'm truly offered a choice, I cannot let myself have anything.

But, Brittany, she didn't know me that well. She was wrong about me all along.

Because I know what I want.

I want…

I want…

I can't.

Oh, Brittany.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

One moan, one touch and suddenly we're connected. I swear I could feel the earth stop turning.

I know that's not what you wanted and I promise you, that simple sound of mine, it didn't resemble the melody inside of me the slightest. It was a fluke, an accident! I didn't mean to break the rules!

I heard someone say your name. Please tell me it wasn't me! Please tell me it only sounded like my own voice had betrayed me.

After all this time I thought I'd become a master of disguise. I never thought I'd trip.

Please tell me I haven't ruined everything.

I haven't, have I?

Like the first time it was only a second and like the first time I find it hard to believe it's true. Oh, Brittany, just when I thought I was clear, it all comes crashing back to me!

I should have stopped, I couldn't stop, I should have said no, I couldn't say no, I should, I could, I might have, I may have and in the end I didn't. I thought I was through with that!

But… you touched me.

I know it was my voice that broke my promise to you, but you touched me, Brittany! You touched me and you looked at me and you didn't let go and you didn't look away! You didn't look away!

You didn't release your grip on me!

You didn't look away!

You, too, could have stopped, but you didn't.

Maybe there is hope for me after all. Maybe it wasn't just my imagination taking over my life, eating my life, moment by moment, second by second.

You touched me! Your hands around my heart!

You looked at me and, Britt!

You wanted me!

Sometimes you have to let go off your dreams before they can come true.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

I've thought this through and I decided:

If there's the slightest chance for us. If there's even the tiniest chance that I am not mistaken and that there was at least one moment since our first time that you truly desired me, wanted me, wanted to be with me, then I have to try.

I cannot have made up everything. The way you looked at me…. I know I'm right.

I have to try.

Maybe tomorrow night will be the night.

- S.

* * *

><p>Brittany,<p>

I wanted to thank you. You've done a wonderful job organizing everything. Please spend the rest of the day going over the details with Christine. She'll be taking over for you so you can enjoy all your hard work. See you tomorrow night.

- S

* * *

><p><strong>* Da mi basia - Give me kisses.<strong>

**Da mi basia mille deinde centum - Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred.**


	5. Part 5

**A/N: **As I know as much about the conclusion as everyone else this chapter is kept absolutely vague. If you're searching for an answer to what made Santana pull a 180 within that week of jealousy, you better go looking somewhere else. :)

I'm eagerly awaiting **lizzylizbian**'s next chapter of **Unconventional Assistance**.

Oh and if you can guess what album I've been listening to the entire time while writing this (without the help of google, silly) we should be best friends.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6:<strong>

You think you're in love like it's a real sure thing

But every time you fall you got your ass in a sling

You used to be strong but now it's "oooh, baby, please"

There ain't gonna be no more begging you, "please"

You know what I want and it ain't one of these

You're bad to the bone and your girlfriend agreed

That falling in love is so hard on the knees.

* * *

><p>Brittany,<p>

I let myself fall once and that is the consequence? This is what I get?

I am such an idiot. I was ready to let you go. I was ready to move on. I wish I had stuck to my decision.

But of course, you couldn't let me, could you? Your touch, Brittany, it still burns on my thighs. And I still see you stare at me behind my closed eyelids whenever I blink.

Was everything you made me believe a lie? Or was it really all just in my head?

The way you looked at me?

All the sweet smiles?

All the times you reassured me, every time I backed out and you pulled me back in?

It's okay?

Let me help?

You pleaded with me then.

And your tiny gasps and whimpers, your breath against me, your suppressed moans?

How you looked at me this last time? How you held me? How you grabbed me and didn't let go?

Brittany, I might be a little off-track sometimes, a little presumptuous, I'll admit that much, but I'm not insane. I haven't made it up. I haven't made up anything since that first time you surprised me and licked my hand away and left me in shock.

All this time it was real. It was real for me, even though it apparently wasn't for you.

Here I thought I would once be singing my letters to you when this whole time you had me dancing to your tune.

I was nothing but your puppet and you were pulling my strings. A dull wooden toy!

You had planned it all out, hadn't you? You're laughing about me right now, joking about how you were able to seduce your oh so tough boss. Turns out the heartless bitch is really a weakling.

Everything I've worked for!

Who did you tell? Who else knows what a stupid asshole I am?

How many bets did you win with this?

And still you got all the strings in your hand. I voluntarily threw my life away into your direction and you picked it up and twisted it around and created this mess I'm hereby stuck in.

What's your next step? Are you going to sue me? Do you want to ruin everything that has ever been important to me?

I assure you: You already have.

Never again. I swear. Never again.

- S.

* * *

><p>Whatever!<p>

Jack shall have Jill

Nought shall go ill

The man shall have his mare again

And all shall be well*

He can have you.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

I'm torn.

I want to hate you.

Odi et amo.**

Let me hate you.

This can't be happening.

- S.

* * *

><p>Brittany,<p>

I'm done pretending. So why aren't you?

Did you really think I'd let you in again? Just so you can take even more from me than you already have?

What kind of sick game are you playing?

This door will stay closed.

- S.

* * *

><p>Brittany,<p>

Break your spell. Give me back my office. Give me back my life. Give me back my thoughts.

You can't be my succubus any longer. The vision of you so sweet to me, that image, so forbidden and so delicious and so mine, this beautiful dream it turned into a nightmare.

You're still haunting me and all I wish for is the innocent confusion back.

At least then I could…

I can't any more.

Not with you on my mind.

Brittany, it's time to let go off me.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

Is it true?

Maybe I could…

No, I can't.

- S.

* * *

><p>Brittany,<p>

I swore I wouldn't open myself up again. I swore that to myself years ago.

I swore it to myself last weekend.

I keep failing myself.

I'm such a failure.

Should I really dare to trust you again? Was I at fault to pass quick judgment?

I feel like I'm falling apart yet again and this time a nacre tooth isn't going to fix it.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

Today it struck me.

I saw you at the vending machine, obviously pondering on what to pick.

Brittany, you always ponder on that and then you always get a Snickers bar. You know you'll get a Snickers bar and I know you'll get a Snickers bar and heck, I bet the whole floor knows you'll get the damn Snickers bar and yet you stand there every single time, and you ponder.

As I jumped behind the next corner like a 13 year old school girl hiding from her crush or a teacher it struck me and that much is crystal clear now:

I am an even bigger fool than I thought I was.

Oh, sweet sweet Brittany.

We need to quit doing that.

I hope it's not too late.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

Oh, how I missed you. It's only been a week but it felt like an eternity. I cannot even begin to describe how I missed your caress, your feel, your voice, your kind eyes, your tender lips, your tongue, your wetness on mine.

Skin met skin and I almost cried from wanting you so much.

And when I felt your locks, oh god! They are even softer than I imagined.

So is your cheek. Your sweet perfect cheek.

And when you touched me…

And then you touched me.

More, please. Oh god.

My desire burns hotter and brighter than it ever has before. It has become my guiding light through all this darkness that has been surrounding my heart. Years. I've wasted years on denial, on depriving myself of want.

I want you!

Thank you.

Britt.

And when you touched me there!

Britt!

And then you touched me there!

Everywhere.

Britt…

And then you looked at me.

Please forgive me.

Britt-.

Please never stop.

Don't stop with that and - ah - never stop doing that.

We don't have to stop. Not anymore.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

Don't cry.

Baby, please don't cry.

I'm such a fool. I promise everything will be alright soon.

We will be.

Da mi basia. Let me cup your cheek once again. Let me turn off the lights for you and kiss your heavy thoughts away.

If you agree, if you still want to, if you still want me, you can have everything and more. This time I won't shut you out. This time it's going to be perfect for both of us. This time I'm going to get it right.

Do you still want me?

I promise you, Britt, if you do, we will have our happy ending.

Oh, Brittany.

Please hold out just a little longer.

- S.

* * *

><p>*Lovingly stolen from "A Midsummer Night's Dream". Thank you, Shakespeare.<p>

** This is from Catull's Carmen 85:

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris.

Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

And because I couldn't find a translation online that I like, I'll translate it myself for you:

I love and I hate. Why am I doing that, you may ask.

I don't know, but I feel it and it's excruciating.

I hate it when poets come along and try to make Latin sound more English (or German) by interpreting everything anew. This translation might not flow as well, but at least it's accurate [/rant]

* * *

><p><strong>Now lizzy, get these two together already, will you :D<strong>


	6. Part 6

**A/N 1**: We're reaching the end, my friends, and I have to say that as short as it was it's been an intense journey. There will be one more part after **lizzylizbian** posted her final chapter to her masterpiece **Unconventional** **Assistance**. Thank you, lizzy, for letting me be the Santana to your Brittany.

**A/N 2:** I've thought this through and without wanting to disappoint anyone, this is going to be really short. The more I was writing for lizzy's chapter 7 the more I felt like I was taking away some of her magic. The purpose behind these letters was never to clarify ambiguities or spell out metaphors. I wanted to add Santana's emotions to the mix, not tell the whole story anew. This collaboration also worked so well, because both of us left many things unsaid.

So here's a little sweet something, a snippet from Santana's mind.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7:<strong>

Dear Brittany,

Three times I have been startled awake tonight and each time I was confident I had been thrown back into those nights when I would reach out, your name on my lips, your scent filling my head, but my hands would come up empty, leaving me so disappointed.

Three times I woke up tonight and three times your name was on my lips and your scent filled my head and when I reached out…

…you were there.

This time my skin doesn't betray me when it tells me I can feel you.

One.

I touch your head and stroke your hair, let your blonde locks rinse through my fingers and enjoy the light tickle on my palm. Whatever I had imagined it would feel like, however tempting it was back then when I caught you snoozing at your desk, I had no idea. Had I had the slightest clue I wouldn't have waited this long to dive my hands into your golden silk.

And even in your sleep your lips form this sweet smile I fell in love with so much time ago: tiny and shy and brighter than anything I've ever seen.

I know I said next time I'd have to wake you, that I couldn't let you sleep. But who would have guessed this next time would be in a bed and I would be lying next to you?

I also said I couldn't let myself fall for you and yet I fell. I have fallen so deeply that I won't ever be able to get up again, even if I wanted to.

Dearest Brittany,

I hope you're having sweet dreams.

Two.

You are the one who's beautiful.

I could easily spend the rest of my life just watching you sleep, studying the lines of your face, tracing them with my index finger.

Maybe if I managed to draw a mental grid it would help my brain remember every detail. Maybe I could explore every inch of your body with my lips and my fingertips and the path I'd take would form a map in my head.

The world of Brittany, which I'll gladly learn by heart.

Maybe then I could quit pinching myself in disbelieve and finally understand that you are really here.

Three.

I bury my face in the crook of your neck, nuzzle the soft skin there and inhale my own breath, reflected back from you, mixed with your aroma.

You're still here with me.

And then a part of me wants you awake, wants more than just your body lying next to me, your head resting on my lap.

For the only thing that can ever compare to having you here is having you here, looking at me, looking into my eyes, letting me drown in those blue pools, sharing your soul with me.

The only thing that can compare is to have you talk to me and kiss me once again and once again and one more time and maybe just another time and just once more.

The only thing that could make me happier was if you'd wrap your arms around me and tell me you will never leave.

Three times I was startled awake tonight. Three times is not enough.

After all these hallucinations, nightmares and dreams I woke up just to realize I wasn't dreaming. You are not a succubus, you're not a fantasy, you are not haunting me. This vision that I had of you, it turned out to be a blessing not a curse.

All this time I was so afraid you would reject me and I hid. I hid behind corners where everyone but you could see me while you were pondering on obvious decisions.

But I woke up. I woke up in so many ways.

And now I will stay awake forever.

- S.


	7. Part 7

**A/N 1:** First of all, lizzy: "Words can't wield the matter". Oh how I loved loved loved writing these letters for you. I meant what I said. Shoot me a pm any time.

**A/N 2:** This will be the last installment. The story ends the way it began: with lizzy. There will not be another letter for the epilogue. I did not hold back to make this as cheesy and sweet as possible.

**A/N 3:** If you enjoyed my letters you will probably also like my Brittana- fic "**We fairies that do run**". It's a coming out story, though… not quite…. I put a lot of heart into it and consider it one of my best. It's also a reference fest.

If you're up for something entirely different, check out "**Teammates**". It's got/is going to have Brittana and Faberry and monsters and battles and humor and RPG stats and I'm thrilled to now be able to jump back into that fantastic world. It's really something I'm just doing for fun… and at the same time that shit's dead serious to me.

Last but not least: Find me on **Twitter** (relax_o_vision) or **Tumblr** (relax-o-vision) or **livejournal** (you guessed it: relax_o_vision). Stick around. Make requests. Recommend stuff to me. Don't be strangers.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8:<strong>

Dear Brittany,

I wish there were words that can describe emotions. I know what you might be thinking now: we do have words for exactly that purpose!

But what does "anger" really say? Does "sadness" capture the true meaning of what you feel? Does "confusion" make you feel lost? Does "jealousy" make your stomach churn? Does "frustration" mean anything at all?

What about "happiness"?

And what about "love"?

Is that an adequate phrase to express how my heart starts to bounce and my face turns hot and the little hairs on my neck rise, how my lips dry immediately, just because you look at me?

Is there any combination of letters that explains the back flip my heart performs each second I get to be with you? Does "love" include all these things about you that make sunsets and daisies and freshly cut grass and the air after a summer rain seem pale and meaningless in comparison? Does it emphasize enough how you illuminate all these little things about life, how they become even more colorful and lively just because you are? Just because we are?

It's imperfect. It's a label, nothing more, a crude abbreviation.

What we know as "love", not the word, the meaning behind it, is a wild mixture of physical reactions and thoughts and hopes and expectations and in the end pure bliss. A tingle inside of me that makes me feel small and big and proud and insecure all at once.

And although I know that there cannot be anymore than just my body and my brain, "love" feels like there is more; something eternal, sacred, something so huge that it can't possibly be seen or understood. Something that exceeds whatever syllable my tongue could form or my pen could write.

"Few men have ever seen a God and those who have can never fully grasp Her true nature. So they build these images, dull dissimilarities after their own reflection instead." *

Arawn was right:

Something that big is too complex for our brains to comprehend.

You cannot hold onto it with words.

Words fail me when I think of you. Words fail me when you press your lips to mine, or I press mine to yours; when we kiss and touch and stroke and tickle and poke and trace and nibble and lick and smooch and taste. Words fail me whenever your skin touches mine.

They dissolve in front of me, like glass regressing to a million grains of sand before being carried away by a light yet sudden breeze.

Words fail me when you dive into my eyes, show me all your unconcealed weaknesses and strengths.

Words fail me when you sink into me, make love to me, caress me, hold me close, take care of me, hold me closer, sink into me again.

So please excuse my clumsy, my very flawed attempt to convey what happened to me, to you, to us:

Today, for the first time, we made love.

Whatever else that means.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

You are still asleep and I don't have much time.

You are gorgeous and I'm so lucky.

You are lying next to me and my world is complete.

I'm so lucky.

I can't wait to spend my life sleeping next to you, sleeping with you.

I can't wait to spend my life being awake with you.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

29 letters I've written to you.

The first one sealed my fate. I didn't know it back then, I didn't want to know it, but this first letter marks the moment when I fell for you. There it is, black on white with a date and signature: the best moment of my life.

What a journey this has become. Unbelievable how I lost myself in Latin love letters, in Shakespeare, in song and poem, myth and saga when it was all there in my third letter to you: I should be lost in you.

It's almost laughable that I managed to dedicate 29 letters to you and only two short notes actually reached you. How is it possible to write so much about every emotion I've had, about every event that brought us closer and I never talked to you about it? I'm sure it made sense at the time.

There is still so much you don't know about me. There's so much to learn.

That's another thing I'm looking forward to: Learn and teach everything there is to know.

No more hiding. No more acting. It will be you and me stripped off all our shells.

Maybe one day I will even read these letters to you. Now that I know you will be willing to listen my melody can finally reach you.

Thinking about it… these 29 letters would make a good book. The story of us, of how we found each other. And the last page will be that picture, the first picture of us, the picture of our first kiss in public.

The title could read:

"Lovers without realizing it"

or

"Unconventional Assistance"

or

"Dear Brittany"?

… well, I'm sure we will come up with a better line together.

But, Britt, although our fairytale ends here, our story isn't finished and neither is my collection of charms or my letters.

Every day with you is worth a charm, it is a charm; and every day I get to spend with you deserves a letter, for every moment is precious to me. I will continue writing to you. I will use every word, every combination of letters, every syllable I can imagine, every sentence you could think of, every phrase and expression there is and I will write them all down and turn them into love for you.

How many languages are there?

I promise, Britt, I will use them all. From this day on forever I will write to you a little note, a scribbled piece of something to let you know how I feel. Every day.

I will write an ode to your hair, a love song to your lips, a haiku for every time you overwhelm my senses with one of your adorable habits.

Every panic attack will be rewarded with a poem. Every time you flush crimson and make me swoon I will sit down to write a note. Every time your face is telling me a whole novel whilst your lips keep shut you deserve a little letter.

I will count the little light freckles on your face.

One… two… three… four…

If I didn't like them so much I'd kiss them all away one by one.

A word for each and every one of them.

For every sigh.

For every moan.

For every whimper.

For every kiss.

For every whisper.

For every touch.

For every smile.

For every skipped heart beat.

For every time you let go off the ground and teach me how to fly.

Every day for the rest of my life.

- S.

* * *

><p>*This is a crude translation from the German version of "The four branches of the Mabinogion" by Evangeline Walton. One of the best books that were ever written!<p> 


	8. Our future

Dear Brittany,

Je t'aime.

- S

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

Wo ai ni.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

Te amo.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

Every star in the firmament

I will write down for you

So you can fold it and put it in your pocket

And carry it with you

To remember me by

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

Ich liebe dich.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

Anata ga daisuki desu.

- S

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

For every leaf on every tree

For every forest

And every shore

For every drop of water

In every ocean

A sentence

A simple declaration

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

Jag alskar dig.

- S.

* * *

><p>Dear Brittany,<p>

I love you.

Yours now and forever,

Santana


End file.
